A Necessary Evil
by FreedomOfThinking
Summary: In a reality where the Office of Naval Intelligence wasn't content with just the Spartan program. Where they didn't feel victory wasn't as sure as it could be. So an attempt was made. They turned the strength of Humanity's Enemy, the Covenant, against them. Project: Eden, the creation of new life. A violation of all things natural. But to win this war, evil was deemed necessary.


**This wasn't meant to be anything more than a passing interest. But I got passionate enough about the idea to crank out almost 8,000 words. I hope you enjoy what I have. Who knows if there will be more.**

 **Not me. That's for sure.**

* * *

"Any particular reason ONI wanted me?" Sergeant Avery J. Johnson felt an irresistible urge to chew on one of his Harvest cigars, his left hand twitching for some kind of action.

He'd been reassigned to a project with so much black tape, he only knew his deployment location was Reach.

That was it.

Everything else was rated above classified, and Johnson did not have the clearance for it.

At the spacedock, two military police officers and man so smartly dressed he couldn't have been anyone other than an ONI spook had swept him away from the other Marines.

Security clearance was waved and customs didn't even look their way twice.

Definitely ONI.

He'd been planetside in five minutes, courtesy of a very fancy and decked out pelican. Away from the main military complex, he'd been escorted to a non-disclosed location filled with so much security Johnson had been mildly impressed. The next thing he knew, he was stuffed into a large freight elevator and dropped level after level through the earth.

No one else accompanied him aside from the agent that met him at the space dock. Of course it would be a spook that would accompany him on his ride into hell, but as the lift passed the 90th meter, Johnson knew something was up.

Whatever he had been assigned for wasn't your normal black op, or military project. This was a Spartan kind of 'hush hush' he was being treated to.

Besides, his moma told him that hell started at the 60th meter.

"That information is currently classified Sergeant-Major" the operative replied, no emotion crossing his features as his eyes scanned over a data-pad he had carried with him.

The form fitting black suit which was obviously mass produced but still a step up from any ONI regular told Johnson some very important things.

This guy answered to one person, and one person only.

The head of ONI, Admiral Parangosky.

His hand stopped twitching at the grand revelation that whatever this project was, the recommendation for him had gone all the way up to the top of the food chain.

Out of everyone, he had been chosen.

Time to push some buttons.

"Do I get to meet your boss?"

The agent actually looked up this time, his black hair hanging slightly in front of his face, brown eyes taking the time to glance at him.

The non regulation haircut gave Johnson further anxiety, but he refused to show it. Not much could get a response out of the hard bastard. Not after Harvest.

The agent was trying his best however, his eyes carried the slightest tone of condescension.

Johnson felt like he was being compared to a bug but kept his mouth shut, waiting for an answer. His urge to give the man a haircut on the spot was marshalled by his need to annoy the agent.

The man gave no response and just turned back to his data pad.

The flow of lighting that flooded the lift gave the agent a much more sinister look, and Johnson felt it oddly appropriate.

He was starting to get battle shakes, just waiting in the relative silence of the lift.

The elevator came to a stop and the large gate of a door swung up.

"Normally I wouldn't count on it, Sergeant-Major, but I'm inclined to make a special appearance today"

In the flesh, Admiral Parangosky stood before him, two guards in full body armor by her side. They wore helmets that were blacked out, hiding their faces.

She was the one who had answered his question.

If Johnson had a cigar in his mouth, it would be on the floor right now.

"Ma'am, Sergeant Avery J. Johnson" the agent in the lift explained, moving past the guards and into the sickeningly white tunnel beyond.

What looked like a reception desk lay beyond the greetings of the guards, and Johnson was already trying to locate exits.

"Thank you Kross, he's already awake and waiting" Parangosky replied with silk and venom at the same time, the look she gave the Agent, Kross, promised pain but reward.

Johnson finally remembered himself and saluted.

"Ma'am"

Her attention was drawn to the Sargent. Now Sergeant-Major apparently, by Kross's admission.

He felt like food.

Like a snack that was being dangled before a very hungry, and very dangerous predator. In time he would understand how accurate that statement was.

"I know that I've kept you in the black since you were shipped here, and I regret that, but information about this project cannot be allowed out" she eyed one of her guards before looking back to him.

The man unclasped the guard over his pistol holster, allowing the weapon to be drawn, but not actually slipping the Magnum from its cage.

"The choice is yours Sergeant-Major. You may join, or my men will _escort_ you out"

Holy fucking shit.

If he didn't say yes, they'd put a bullet in his head and blame it on suicide. His death would be brushed under the covers and that would be that.

The end of Sargent Avery J. Johnson.

"Not much of choice ma'am" he grunted, breaking the salute but still remaining polite, "I'll accept"

She smiled, and Johnson wanted to shit himself. Her smile promised pain, humiliation, and just a light amount of death.

"That's very good"

Pivoting, she began to walk down the perfect white tunnel, headed for the large desk.

"Mark, get his bag"

The guard with the unclipped pistol stepped into the lift and slung Johnson's duffle bag over his shoulder, all of his earthly possessions held in the military grade material.

"Follow me, Sergeant-Major" she was already moving. Her word was law around here. If the Admiral asked you to jump, you didn't bother asking how high. Insubordination would get you shot, and your body dumped somewhere no one would find it.

Johnson jogged for a moment to catch up, but was walking in stride with the ONI director once they reached the welcome desk.

"Oh? Fresh meat ma'am? You shouldn't have" a mousy faced man with bright red hair had appeared from beneath the desk when they approached, shooting a teasing grin at the Admiral.

This guy had a death wish, speaking to the Spook of all Spooks like that.

"Sergeant-Major Avery J. Johnson, the new handler. Could you give him his passcard and his documents?"

"Of course ma'am" the redhead smiled, slipping his hands into a folder and across a keyboard.

An Identification card slid across the oval desk towards Johnson, followed by a small manila folder.

"Thank you, Michael"

"My pleasure Ma'am" the man ducked his head and went right back to work (whatever his work was at this fucked up visitor center).

Johnson tucked the folder under his arm, and awkwardly held the I.D in his other hand.

'Handler?' he wondered about the title.

"Wear the badge at all times Sergeant-Major. Once we pass through the Gate, if you don't have it on the system will detect an intruder"

He now noticed the badges and I.D chains that even the Admiral's guards wore.

While still walking with the group, he clipped it onto his dress uniform.

The welcoming desk that 'Michael' sat behind was stationed between two paths in the white washed tunnel. A fork in the road which Johnson was herded to the right path.

Kross had gone this way as well.

"The other path leads to another facility, one you will not be granted access to for the time being. Agent Kross will explain the rest of this facility to you later. I will be personally handling the reason for its existence" how she knew what he was thinking on, Johnson had no idea, but she was an intuitive person.

The ONI Director would have to be.

"Much appreciated ma'am" Johnson replied, voice stilted slightly. He didn't have much experience dealing with the Office of Naval Intelligence, but he couldn't afford to act in his usual manner.

He had a distinct feeling that toeing the line was a big 'no-no' around here.

The sight of something other than white walls caught his eye, and Johnson was able to look over the admittedly short woman to see what it was.

A large grey door, more than likely made from Titanium steel, blocked the next room off.

One line traced from the roof down to the floor, showing the split in the steel that allowed for it to open.

And open it did.

It was almost a meter thick, Johnson noted, moving in step with the Admiral into the small ante chamber.

He also noted the vents in the enclosed space, the next Titanium door only a few meters in front of them.

This was a decontamination unit.

Black glass layered the white wall to his left.

Security view port, obviously.

The door behind him slid close with a slight thump. If he strained his ears he could barely hear the powerful hydraulics that forced it shut.

A brief hissing noise, confirming his thoughts on the room being a HAZMAT chamber, and then silence.

Everyone in the room turned to look at him.

"Something you want to tell us, Sergeant Major?" Parangosky's tone was layered with ice.

What did he do wrong?.

What the fuck is going on.

Johnson was unable to speak for a moment, but eventually found his voice.

"I'm not sure what you mean ma'am" he tried, noticing how she narrowed her eyes.

" _Tobacco products ma'am_ " came from the guard with his duffel, Mark, " _About eight units_ " his voice was filtered through the helmet he wore. More than just ODST armor, but nothing like Spartan gear. Personalised, but not completely unique in build.

ONI operators, the personal hitmen and private kill squad for the Admiral. They handled UNSC wet work.

Johnson felt his face flush slightly, but remained firm in standing.

This was going to happen one day or another.

"Cigars ma'am. Last of my collection from Harvest"

" _That violates at least 12 personnel rules and restrictions"_ Mark wasn't speaking to him, but the Admiral instead.

She appraised Johnson for a few moments, and that scary ass smirk slid across her face once more.

"I think we can let this one slide, right Sergeant Major?" the threat was there.

The rules around here seemed pretty strict, and he wasn't completely aware of all of them yet. His new boss had seemed ready to throttle him for the Cigars that he carried with him. While most commanders and generals let it slide, Johnson knew that it was technically illegal to have cigarettes or cigars on any military site. But since the start of the war with the Covenant, most didn't care.

Might as well enjoy what you can, while you still have a chance to.

Life wasn't promised anymore.

He knew he was disposable, but he still held some value obviously.

Might as well toe the line if he could.

"It's a cold day in hell when you keep a Johnson away from their smokes ma'am" he knew it was cheeky to answer like that, but he wasn't ready to be bogged down by death threats and restrictions.

He was a marine, first and foremost.

If this was his duty, he'd do it.

Didn't mean he had to like it.

To his complete surprise, and knee jerk reaction, Parangosky let out a bark of laughter, the smile turning somewhat softer for a moment.

"Indeed, Sergeant Major"

The next Titanium door slid open.

"Welcome to The Cradle"

* * *

Alexander Kross swept away from the Pen, running through his data pad at an inhuman rate. His implants were top of the line and gave him an edge over regular humans. His service to humanity was done at the cost to his own intellect and morality, but it was insignificant in the grand scale of things.

The Pen was the location of the main operation for the Cradle. Where all the legwork and science went into Project: Eden. All of the workers and scientists had somehow come to an agreement on the nicknames for the parts of the facility, but Kross couldn't care less.

He was currently situated just outside the housing chamber, one of the many cubical cells that was designed specifically to hold the subjects housed in the facility.

A few meters to his left was the open air pit referred to as the stomping ground or, more ominously, 'The Pit'.

Complete with a physical gym and weapons course, it was state of the art technology utilised for the tests that occured in this small space.

"You're annoyed" a voice rumbled from behind the blast proof plexiglass.

He didn't even look up from the data pad as one of the figures of Project: Eden moved around, "and what makes you say this, Xerxes?"

"You always narrow your eyes when your pissed off"

Alexander looked up now, having to crane his head to look above him at the figure that towered over him.

He could only see the eyes of the cell's ward, the cubical space having all its lights shut off so its occupant could rest easier.

Cold blue spheres blazed down at him.

In the early days, when the old project director was still around, the occupant had been less than happy about his lighting situation.

Small changes were made, in order to improve the relationship between subject and project director, changes that were implemented once Kross was assigned to the project.

Kross was one of the few people that the being did not despise, allowing the man to not only come near his 'home', but also openly speak with him.

"New handler is here" Kross mumbled, "stiff ass Sergeant" he rubbed his eyes and looked down at the data pad, "Parangosky is bringing him around to meet you and probably talk with Aloysius later"

The being snorted, turning away.

Kross took this as an opportunity for a small test. Memory.

"He's the hero of Harvest. Tell me about him"

The being growled, but responded to the command.

"Sergeant Avery J. Johnson. Earth born. Enlisted pre-contact. Status: Alive"

Kross nodded, "Aloysius told me everything down to his favourite tobacco flavour"

"Runt" the subject snorted, but said nothing else.

"You've got a physical today. I suggest you prepare. The Sergeant will be speaking with you afterwards"

Xerxes, the subject, said nothing. His favourite method of communication was silence.

"I know you don't like it" Kross began, "but try not to break this one"

"...only if he impresses me"

That was the closest thing to a yes that Kross would get.

Typing some commands into his data pad, the cell began to move, gears and cogs, moving the large cube over to the Pit.

* * *

"Holy hell" Johnson muttered, faltering in his steps ever so slightly for only a moment.

It was a workshop of some kind. An actual madhouse of a zoo.

Not really, but the numbers of eggheads running around with data pads, important looking equipment and printed paper made Johnson think he was in some kind of Nerd Enclosure.

The ceiling was raised by at least 10 meters, a series of catwalks and guard towers hung from it, with patrolling soldiers similar to the ones that had flanked him on the way here.

Their armor was white however, a very stark contrast to the two figures that now flanked the admiral.

O.D.S.T regulation weapons though, and the new handler turned his eyes down to the sight before him.

They stood at the top of a metal slope that stretched for at least a hundred meters. It was an electric walkway, with branches off to the left and right from the exit they stood in. Johnson couldn't see past any of the other tributaries for the path, but he could take in the grand scale that was The Cradle.

While the paths were sloped downwards, leading further into the space, the workstations and desks were flat and leveled off, only extending for a few meters.

Every 5 or so meters marked the end of each plateau, all the men and women in lab coats obviously doing important work as they scurried around like rats.

Hundreds of monitors, screens, and data flashed everywhere.

Johnson was reminded of a UNSC Frigate bridge, but only thirty times the size in the cavernous space.

"Welcome back Admiral, and welcome to your new home Handler Johnson"

A chipper voice announced the arrival of a petite red A.I, who flickered into existence on a small pedestal to his right.

On further notice, Johnson could spot many of these pedestals all over the space. There was one by every work station, as well as a few near the guard towers on the catwalks above him.

"Melinda, we're here to take our new handler to meet Xerxes" Parangosky smiled at the small avatar.

Melinda, obviously a smart A.I was a tiny girl with close cut hair and work overalls. She nodded, "Kross moved him to the stomping ground. He's going through his physical tests today"

"Early?" the admiral sounded surprised.

"You know how well he's been doing ma'am" the A.I replied cheekily, "of course he'd start early"

"I've got plenty of questions, ma'am" Johnson chimed in, stepping onto the walkway behind the admiral as it moved them further into the facility, "perhaps now is the appropriate time to fill me in?"

Parangosky entertained some thoughts for a few moments, judging by the expression on her face. She was contemplating keeping him in the dark for longer, but eventually decided against it.

"The Cradle is home to Project: Eden. While Doctor Catherine Halsey is responsible for the creation of the Spartan Program, the military's most elite cohort of warriors, we are _still_ losing this war"

And it was the truth.

Even with the tide breakers that were the second generation super soldier, deep down, every Marine knew that they were fighting a losing battle.

Every day colonies and worlds were lost, destroyed in a hellfire wave of plasma and death that was the Covenant Armada.

Although Spartan's could win wars on the ground single handed, they could be defeated. They could still lose. None of them were indestructible.

Johnson had figured out a long time ago what the Missing in Action order meant. Spartans could die. He'd seen it happen on Harvest.

"If we had more time in this war, we'd put as much research and effort into developing our space combat technology, but to put it simply we don't have the time" Parangosky continued, and Johnson nodded, spotting a series of large cubelike structures in the distance.

The number of catwalks and guards was steadily increasing.

"And so the Office of Naval Intelligence has commandeered a few key assets, in an attempt to give us something more effective, and far more impactful than just the Spartan program"

Parangosky was still speaking to him, even as she was going over reports and information on a tablet that sprung up from nowhere.

Johnson felt like snorting at the mention of a 'few' key assets. This place looked like where all of his tax money went to.

If it wasn't this ONI black site that absorbed funds generated by the UEG, it was another one buried away where the light could never see it.

"Another super soldier program, ma'am?" Johnson was just looking for verbal confirmation.

The Admiral nodded, but it was the A.I who spoke.

"Ohhh, he's much smarter than the last one! Can I keep him? Please?"

One of the bodyguards, not-Mark, snorted at Johnson's expression, and the Sergeant Major schooled his features.

"Put a collar anywhere near my neck and you won't like the results little lady" Johnson growled at the A.I, who smirked up at him from the Admiral's tablet.

"Easy children" Parangosky smiled, looking up from the tablet to stare directly ahead "it's time to meet your ward Johnson"

* * *

"Once more on the reflex. You're holding out on me" Kross said, gazing down into the Pit where the subject was snapping out punches.

The figure growled, low and deep, a sound similar to the one his Father could make, but complied.

A series of holographic targets began to appear and rotate around the subject. They would light up from their common blue to a red, and when Xerxes' fist made contact with one, it would flash green and reset to blue.

His strikes were lightning fast, only milliseconds between his movement and contact with the circle.

Powerful muscles flexed under the leathery skin, accenting the strength behind every blow.

On Kross's display, there was a counter for the strength behind each strike.

The pit was the size of an old earth baseball field, taking up the large majority of space in The Cradle, and it was used daily for different physical tests for Xerxes and Aloysius.

Kross was king around these parts. If he said something was to be done, everyone listened, even Parangosky, who was approaching the man now.

"Kross"

"Ma'am. Sergeant-Major"

The mentioned man just grunted, still unable to see inside the lit arena-like space from where he currently stood.

Her two guards backed off a bit, and Kross could see Melinda flicker away from her data pad.

Johnson looked torn between investigating, and stopping.

Parangosky made her way to the edge of the pit, standing by Kross and observing the test that Xerxes was under.

"How is he?"

"Temperamental. Frustrated. Angry"

"Good mood then" she smiled, eyeing the fast moving figure in the pit.

Johnson made his approach now.

"I still don't understand why you brought me into this project ma'am" Johnson desperately needed to chew a cigar, but decided to just tap his fingers against his hands as they were clasped behind his back.

"You could find better Marines from-"

He could see into the pit.

Xerxes had just wrapped up on the training machine, glancing casually towards his observers.

He made eye contact with the slack jawed Avery J. Johnson, his new handler, and sneered.

Well, the closest thing to a sneer that someone with mandibles could manage.

The half human, half Sangheili hybrid, Xerxes had finally met Sergeant Avery J. Johnson.

* * *

"-Subject Adam, and the undisclosed mother, Subject Eve, were genetically compatible after a few changes and adjustments. Giving us Subject Xerxes, and Subject Aloysius. Biological siblings, with extremely different traits"

Johnson had blown his cap off shouting, drawing the attention of many scientists and guards.

He was silenced by the Admiral's calm voice, suggesting they speak someplace else.

Subject Xerxes returned to his cell, and Kross led them all to a small enclosed meeting room, far off to the side of where the 'fucking split chin freak', as Johnson put it, was kept.

"As you can see" the image which detailed advanced genetic information changed to a physical diagram of Xerxes, "he possesses the physical stature of the 'Elites'. Long legs and arms, with two segmented joints near his ankles, similar to an Earth Cheetah. Peak physical performance, and awaiting augmentation"

"This is fucking unbelievable" Johnson muttered, under the careful supervision of the Admiral. Kross didn't seem to care at all about how Johnson was taking it, only giving him the run down of the situation, and answering questions when the Sergeant asked them.

ONI had no limits of depravity. The kinds of boundaries they would cross to guarantee a victory for mankind. At some point in his life Johnson had thought of it as impressive or necessary, but looking at the diagram before him…

Nature had been violated in the worst of ways. It wasn't a simple line that they had crossed. But some things were never meant to be done.

Subject Xerxes, named after the Persian Emperor responsible for the death of the Spartans, was mankind spitting in the face of nature.

Every natural law had been violated.

Humans and Elites were not compatible. The war stated, underlined, and reprinted that statement in bold every day. Yet ONI had fucking done it.

Many of the Admirals and Generals of the UNSC had quoted desperate times regarding desperate measures, but was there nothing safe from their immoral thoughts? Was there no definitive line that they would not cross?

Dear lord.

Johnson had his face in his hands, the image of the hybrid looking up at him in disdain.

"I'm the handler? I'm responsible for that thing you cooked up in a lab?"

"For the third time" Kross started to show some emotion, mainly aggravation, "yes. You are to train him as you would any other Marine, instill good habits, focus, precision, and a healthy mind"

"If I get within six feet of 'him' he's going to snap me in two" Johnson's eyes flickered once more over the charts and sheets before him, glancing at the slow motion recordings of Xerxes 'training'.

"And let me guess" the man continued, "that's what happened to the last guy who had my job?"

No one said anything.

"Fuck" Johnson really needed a cigar right now.

"You can take some time to think this through. You've already agreed to this" Parangosky examined her nails as Mark started to look more threatening.

"Don't rush this"

Johnson felt an internal struggle of epic proportions.

The split chins. The fucking elites.

They had been the bane of Marines everywhere for a long time. Nightmare inducing warriors that could take a beating and cut a bloody swathe through any squad unprepared to deal with them.

Physically imposing and ruthlessly intelligent, they were a formidable opponent.

He was more than disturbed by the creature he had witnessed.

"Is he a test tube baby?"

"That's classified" Kross pushed the glasses up on his face.

"Look, Krog, or whatever the fuck your name is, four eyes" Johnson stood, the infamous drill Sergeant coming out to play as he gestured an accusing finger towards the Operative "I couldn't give a hail mary of a fuck about what is classified and what isn't at this point. You want me to train that biological freak show? Sure. You want him up to speed? Can do. But you don't want mediocre. You want _the best_. So now is not the time to start drawing lines about what the fuck is above my pay grade. Tell me if he had a mother or not!"

Parangosky was silent, and Kross looked like the stick that was wedged in his ass had been pushed further up.

"You heard the man, Agent Kross"

"Ma'am?"

The Admiral appraised the Sergeant Major with a positive look, "tell him what she was. Not who"

Kross looked like he wanted to snap, but spoke anyway, "Xerxes's mother is a Spartan program candidate. Him and his brother were live births, 7 years apart. He is currently 13 years old, his brother is 6"

"Thank you" Johnson huffed, sitting down with his arms crossed.

"Why did you need to know that, Sergeant Major?"

"Motivation ma'am. All Marines need something good in their lives, I intend to see if your _Subject_ has what it takes"

Parangosky put the devil to shame with the smile that stretched across her face.

"From now on Kross, if the Sergeant Major asks for a resource or information, you will give it to him without hesitation" she stood, "if he survives Xerxes of course. Now, I really must be going. I'm needed in other places"

Johnson would have stood to salute her, but he really couldn't give a fuck.

"Welcome to the team, Handler Johnson"

* * *

"Oi! Split-Chin, over here!"

Xerxes looked up over the top of his book, to gaze at the black human that stood in front of the glass.

His cage.

He had seen the Handler approach his den with a furious gaite, but had thought nothing of it. If he proved dull, he would burn out like all the others.

Then Grandmother would remove him from the project, and another would come.

Rinse and repeat until he finally tasted combat.

"What" he demanded, eyes glancing back to the book

"I don't like you. And you sure as hell don't like me. We both know that. So lets cut the bullshit" Johnson grinded the sentence out, once he realised he was being ignored.

Xerxes glanced up again.

"I got some questions for you Grunt, and I'm not leaving until I get answers"

"Kross showed you my stats. You know everything already" the hybrid dismissed interaction, turning his attention back to the book Grandmother had given him.

His lights turned on, bathing him in annoying focus. Everyone could see him clearly.

"It wasn't a request Grunt. That was an order. Something you're going to have to get used to being on the receiving end of"

Xerxes snarled, but he stood, approaching the glass.

At 6 and a half feet tall, clothed only in elastic boxers, he was the epitome of dangerous, something that this Handler did not seem to care about.

"Ask your questions" he fumed.

More lights flickered on, drawing the attention of everyone over to the confrontation.

"That's, 'ask your questions, _**sir**_ " Johnson corrected.

Xerxes rolled his shoulders, and if the glass hadn't separated them, he would have had Johnson in pieces.

But he relented. For the sake of his pride, and the looks other gave him.

"Ask your questions, sir" his tone was covered in acid, but internally he was relieved when Johnson turned some of the lights off. Good behaviour, good treatment. People were still looking over at him. Usually shrouded in darkness or safe from prying eyes within the Pit, Xerxes didn't let himself be seen by the others.

The Handler noticed where the hybrid was looking, turning around and barking at everyone else, "Is it break time already? Get back to work!"

People listened, hurriedly turning away and focusing on their own business. The black officer was scary.

Johnson and the hybrid focused again on one another.

"You've got one bullet, one target. He's got a hostage but you don't have a clear shot. What do you do?"

Hypotheticals. Interesting.

Xerxes considered the question, his mandibles twitching. When they lay still, it almost looked like he had a human jaw.

Almost.

"Depending on the importance of the hostage, I either incapacitate or shoot through"

"The target is the priority" Johnson reiterated.

"Shoot through"

"The hostage is a child"

"My answer remains the same"

"The hostage is an old woman"

"Expendable"

"The hostage is your mother"

Xerxes fumbled, for only a second.

"What is the meaning of these questions?"

"That's not an answer" Johnson narrowed his eyes, "what _do you do?"_

"I… I wait. Look for a better angle, reposition"

"Not an option, you don't have the time. You have to shoot now, or you'll never get another chance. Our target waltz's off and will kill hundreds of others if he gets away"

Xerxes went silent.

Johnson tapped his wrist, "clocks ticking"

"I shoot" the hybrid whispered, "I shoot through the hostage"

"But it's not just a hostage, it's your mother. The human who gave birth to you, the very lady-"

"I shoot through my mother!" Xerxes roared, "I kill the target and I save the people!"

Both were silent, Johnson because he was studying the creation, and Xerxes because he despised the man before him.

With a flick of his new data pad, Johnson shut off the lights. A swipe and two taps, and the monitor within Xerxes' cell was powered on, instantly displaying imagery.

People fleeing.

Buildings burning.

Explosions.

Death.

War.

The Covenant.

"I don't care if we dislike each other. I really don't. I'm here for one reason, and one reason only"

Johnson gestured at the images, "that's your target. And you are the one bullet in the chamber for all I care. They are monsters, savages, and remorseless abominations. But because I'm going to train you" he pointed directly at Xerxes, "because as you are right now, it will be a shot in the dark. You rely on yourself too much to be effective in combat. Real marines, real soldiers rely on their team. I don't care how genetically special you are, everyone needs someone watching their six. And because I will be training you, I can guarantee that you will be able to save the hostage. You'll be able to save every hostage for the next forty years when I'm done with you. I understand that you care for your mother. That's good. Any other human is the same, but if we don't stop this war, you're putting people like her, and countless others in the firing line for someone else to take that shot"

Johnson ruffled his own hair briefly in frustration, still taking in his own situation, but unable to break out of his speech.

"You don't have to like me son. Nor do you have to care about any of the things I say or do. But I will be teaching you discipline, order and a _goddamn_ good sense of respect. And so help me god if you start slacking I will _motivate_ you"

Johnson checked the clock on his datapad, "now all these science monkeys have been running their _tests_ and _programs_ in order for you to work. I couldn't give less of a shit about that. You're a growing boy and you need what I tell you to need. So at oh-six-hundred tomorrow, you and me will be doing some good old fashioned P.T" Johnson narrowed his eyes, "That's physical training if you didn't know already, Marine"

Xerxes nodded, slowly.

"Now you're not some fancy ass Spartan, so I don't expect much from you. But I do expect a ready to go attitude. Are we clear, Marine?"

Xerxes nodded again.

"I said, **are we clear, MARINE**!"

Johnson drew the attention of everyone again, but couldn't care less. His focus was solely upon Xerxes.

"Yes, sir!" the hybrid barked back, stepping away from the glass slightly. He was intimidated by the human.

"Get some shut eye" Johnson snapped, and turned away, moving to his own quarters.

He would be sleeping within one of the small rooms that was housed within The Cradle.

"And what are you all looking at?!"

The scientists scampered back to work, terrified by the angry Handler.

Kross was probably the only one that could see the small smile that spread across Xerxes' face. Parangosky had made an excellent choice with the former Sergeant Major, Avery J. Johnson.

* * *

Johnson had spent the past hour going over files, reports, and every minor detail he could find on Subject Xerxes.

As per Parangosky's orders, Melinda and Kross gave him access to everything.

Birth videos, real time footage of Xerxes' cell, childhood memories, important psychological evaluations.

The works.

Xerxes acted like a typical Elite. He didn't care whether you held a higher rank than him or not. Aside from Kross or Parangosky, he didn't listen to anyone. Unless you had his respect, he would give you no honor, no loyalty.

So Johnson already had to establish some kind of bond or trust between them. They had really dumped him in the deep end for this one, but he'd been in worse situations.

Harvest had actually happened, and unlike what some Marines thought, hell on earth was real.

It had a latitude and longitude, and could be pinpointed on a large field outside the capital city center.

Johnson shook his head, refocusing on his new _job_.

So at his current condition, Xerxes could take on a Spartan. He was designed from birth to be a Super Soldier of Super Soldiers.

Not that Johnson would ever say so, but the idea for the program was ingenious. Elite's were some of the only enemies within the Covenant that could take Spartan's on hand to hand and one on one. Aside from a use of excessive heavy plasma artillery, Halsey's children were nigh unstoppable.

So make a Super Soldier out of an elite. That hadn't ended well with the early stages of the program.

Photos and images of dead Elites, vat grown monsters, littered a large section of the redacted files, ones that Johnson wasn't happy to have to skim through.

But it showed all the scientists attached to Project: Eden that Sangheili biology was incompatible to Spartan Augmentation. It would take decades of research and genetic engineering to perfect the Augmentation process for an Elite, even if they managed to succeed vat growing one, it would take decades.

That amount of time was deemed unacceptable for obvious reasons.

So some bright fucker by the name of Kyle Katarn had suggested to just take all the desirable traits of an Elite and stuff them into a human shell.

And thus, Xerxes was born.

Aloysius was an unexpected side effect that was covered in so much fucking black tape and redacted information that Johnson couldn't make heads or tails of how _another_ elite human hybrid could 'accidently' be born.

Fucking ONI.

From his first day being able to walk, Xerxes showed traits and attitudes similar to an Elite. Aggressive, dominant, always looking for a challenge, the kinds of things that would get most 6 year olds sent to dinner without bed.

But a hulking beast of a hybrid? An enclosure, armed guards. Security tightened when a Handler had been to 'patronizing'.

Poor bastard had lost an arm.

Now, down a long string of names that had been removed from the program, injured, or dead, Johnson wasn't pleased to see his name added to the list.

A brief check confirmed that the 16 or so before him were indeed dead.

All of them had passed away from 'unfortunate circumstances' or 'terrible accidents'.

Once again, fucking ONI.

The boy was fluent in English and the Sangheili language, making him a very convenient resource on the battlefield even without his physical capabilities.

Usually listening to enemy communication and chatter was something that most partook in during the old wars between humanity, but when it's an alien fucking language and a specialist is required, most didn't bother.

Xerxes was being made to be the best in his field, and while he did already outstrip his Spartan rivals, he lacked strong and obvious morals.

He was to be a genetic tank. The best soldier of all soldiers. But you can't breed a soldier. They need to be trained.

While it was noted all throughout his file that his mother and brother were strong points of reference for defensive and protective nature, it was Johnson's job to make this hybrid extend that nature to his fellow Marines.

ONI didn't want a lone wolf from this program, they needed ready to go combatants that could swing into a fight, take charge, and hack the enemy apart.

Johnson could just imagine the look of an Elite's face when they went head to head against Xerxes.

Fucking priceless.

He went back to reading, slowly forming a battle strategy for the boy... hybrid... alien thing.

God his life was a mess.

But this was a man who'd been to hell and back for his species more times than he could count.

Johnson would make this work, without without the consent of his trainee.

* * *

Six Weeks into 'the Johnson Method'

* * *

"I've seen Grunts with better stamina! Keep running until I say so, split-chin!"

Training with Avery J. Johnson was hell. Ask any Marine who had been under the man's tutelage at any time; he was a slave driver.

But he was also a good man. Something that didn't usually come into play with the sadistic nature of a drill Sergeant.

When it did though, that seperated the good from the great in terms of training.

"And hold!" Johnson barked, Xerxes finally coming to a panting stop, arms resting on his legs to support himself, "did I say to rest? Drop and give me 30"

The hybrid groaned.

Wrong noise buddy.

"Make it 60, _shit_ -chin!"

"Yes sir!" Xerxes snarled, dropping to the floor and executing perfect push ups. Grade A Johnson approved training.

He had already been thoroughly educated on the correct form of push ups, pull ups, crunches, sit ups, jumping jacks and frogs. Burpees, as Kross had called them.

While his stamina and strength were of another world, the Augmentation process had not been approved yet, meaning that Xerxes still had limits. While they remained at an incredible threshold, his strength and speed had an upper level.

Johnson strived to push through that, and on their third session together, the man had proved his capability to exceed limits.

The handler had been barking each count of the push ups, setting the pace for his ward.

"And 60, up and at em Marine. We've got guests!"

"Yes sir" Xerxes wheezed, standing as tall as he could, back straight. There would be hell to pay later if Johnson caught him standing incorrectly.

Posture was what made up 60% of good Marines, according to his Handler at least.

The other 40% was composed of good instincts and the ability to sleep with one eye open.

Kross was approaching with two men in toe. They had large containers with them, carried on a small wheeled cart.

After the second day of training, Johnson refused to observe from a distance, demanding that he be allowed into the Pit with his trainee.

Xerxes was ready to get rough with the aggravating man, but the very large cattle prod that Johnson carried deterred that notion.

The need for it had abandoned once Johnson had established his presence and position in their 'relationship' after the first week.

As some famous man once said, "speak softly but carry a big stick"... except nothing about Sergeant-Major Avery J. Johnson was soft.

War was no place for softness.

Kross was typing at his data pad, "gun range Johnson, we have new tech for Xerxes to test"

"Yes sir" Johnson replied, barking an order at his trainee before moving away to set up and coordinate the gear with the tech boys.

"Xerxes"

"Sir" was the reply in exchange for the usual 'Kross' that would have been given weeks ago.

"How are things?"

"Painful, sir"

"It's been Kross for years now, it doesn't have to change"

The director could see the slightest of reactions in the hybrid's eyes, but the being only nodded.

"Your brother wishes to see you. Any prior engagements I need to know about for tomorrow?"

While Kross and Johnson had a relatively stable working relationship, they despised one another and everything the other stood for.

No matter how necessary each of them were to the project, both wished they could do without the other.

"Just P.T in the morning" Kross felt like smiling when the hybrid choked off the 'Sir' that was almost added to the end of the sentence.

He'd never say it out loud, but Johnson knew what he was doing.

"Marine! Get your leathery ass over here!"

"Yes sir!" Xerxes hadn't even hesitated, nodding politely at Kross and turning to jog over to Johnson.

Walking would have only incurred a "double-time is shit-chin!"

"Here" the strange handgun was handled with both hands by the tech, but Xerxes could grip it comfortably with one hand, his long fingers resting perfectly around it.

"New Magnum model. The 5B"

Xerxes nodded.

"How's the grip?"

"Flawless" he replied, "the polymer is tight however, I suggest spacing out the handle slightly"

The other tech wrote this down immediately, furiously typing on his data pad.

"The weight?"

"Somewhat top heavy, but manageable" Xerxes, spun the handgun, "simple magazine in the handle. The ammo is fifty caliber?"

The head tech guy nodded, impressed that the hybrid had deduced that, and the other wrote down the review of the gun's weight.

Xerxes was handed a fully loaded magazine.

"Now, you might want to-"

The gun was loaded, and 12 shots were fired off down range, the bullets punching holes through the holographic targets.

"The recoil is non-existent. Very quiet for a large slug" Xerxes looked at the gun in his hand, his eyes absorbing every detail, "impressive"

"Let's move through this quickly James, I'm sure Johnson wants to get back to his torture" Kross added dryly, having completely ignored the fire rate.

The metal contained that had been brought over was opened, and the now named tech guy, James, handed over a large rifle to the Subject.

"DMR-S. New model with the adjustments from last test"

It was much sleeker than its progenitor, curvier, but the essentials of the standard issue MA5B Assault Rifle could be seen over the fringe of it.

The barrel had been shortened, but the overall length of the gun was extended to compensate.

"50 round magazine" the large clip was handed to the hybrid, who slapped it into the base of the gun.

"Fully automatic?"

James nodded, his blue eyes dancing with intrigue behind his sweaty blond hair.

The roar of the rifle filled the room.

Xerxes didn't finish the clip however, checking the spring on the side of the gun and ejecting a shell.

"Compensation is perfect. Ammo count display lags for a split second however"

The clip was ejected, and the hybrid caught it out of the air, handling both back to the tech guys.

"What else?"

"Your brother has already gone over the Sniper system, so we only have-" James paused, reaching into the metal container for the last gun, "-the shotgun"

Xerxes took it, hands running over it once again.

All of these weapons had been adjusted for his frame and size, as well as his unique physiology.

"Pump action, 20 gauge shells. Is there an option for explosive ammunition?"

James nodded, "and incendiary"

Johnson whistled at that, hoping he'd get one of these for his future deployment.

"One of each round then"

Xerxes was handed the requested ammunition.

Three loud booms echoed through the space, and the barrel of the gun was left smoking. The hybrid cocked it once more, ejecting the final round, and handed the now empty gun back to the tech guy.

He had used actual targets that appeared downrange by the push of a button on Johnson's data pad.

One was shredded, the other had a massive hole blown in it. The other had licks of flame all over it.

James smiled, "pleasure doing business with you. We'll have the other attachments and adjustments done by next week"

With that, they turned around and moved away to the other part of the facility, the one outside of The Cradle.

The Foundry.

"An update as well" Kross spoke, drawing the hybrid's attention, "your lessons are cancelled next week"

"Any training?" Johnson asked.

"Suspended until further notice"

"Why, sir?" Xerxes asked, confused. Until his mind pieced it together. It was time. Time to accelerate. Time to become better than everything else.

Augmentations.

They were finally ready to proceed.

"It's time. I won't be there for the procedure, but I wish you luck"

Xerxes nodded. It was the respectful thing to do.

"Thank you, sir"

"I suggest you take some time to rest for the remainder of the day… read a book" the man turned on his heel, already immersed again in his data pad.

"You heard the man split-chin" Johnson commanded his attention once again, "beat it. I expect to see you awake a ready next week for some extended training"

'Good luck'

It was Johnson's way of saying it, but the hybrid smiled at the gruff attitude.

"Of course, sir"

"Scram kid. Get some rest"

* * *

 ** _So there you have it. A small little idea that grew into a first chapter. I might update this every now and then because in my head I did get past the first few pages. I have a middle, an end, and this is the beginning. A giant list of characters._**

 ** _I actually planned so much for this, but it's getting the words onto paper that matters. Without that, it's all pointless work._**

 ** _Just need motivation._**

 ** _Helps if people like it though :p_**

 ** _-Best of days,_**

 ** _Freedom_**


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